another night

lying
on her side
at night,
with a book
hopelessly
open to a twice
read page,
facing the window.
her hip as pale
as snow.
her reflection
in the glass.
her dark eyes
full of tears
that have no
no where
else to go.
so she stays
another night
another week,
another year.
you feel
her inching
away, fading, soon
to disappear.